


Nexus

by thechaoscryptid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AFAB and gender neutral language, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Repo! The Genetic Opera Fusion, Developing Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Violence, M/M, also inspired by the Host, implied/referenced nonconsensual drug use, trans keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: “Live the life you want,”Honerva says, and Shiro shuts his ears against the rest of the sentiments. They’re ingrained in every person tasked with taking back what’s GalCo’s—we’re here, you’re ours, and all it costs is the small fee of compliance.It’s a vicious thing, but their order is what separates them from the madness of the desert outside Daibazaal’s limits, and so viciousness becomes vital when that order is threatened.(Written for Bloom vol. 2)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Nexus

**Author's Note:**

> Had the honor of participating in the Bloom vol 2 zine this summer! Here's Shiro and Keith falling in love as they dismantle a broken system

Daibazaal is a dark and dreary stain that stretches for miles and miles in all directions, a formless beast that chews up and spits out people quicker than they can say  _ more, give me more.  _ Shiro stalks its streets, eyes fixed firmly on the tracks his mark's left behind in the muck. His hands shake in his pockets, the first sign the quintessence is wearing off.

He's got to find her quick, get back and take the next dose.

Rain begins to patter down on the pavement as the nightly news announcements sound from the speakers placed on every corner, reminding everyone that GalCo wishes them the best, and not to hesitate to call if they're dissatisfied with  _ any  _ part of their lives. 

_ “We want you happy,”  _ Hira says.

_ “Live the life you want,”  _ Honerva says, and Shiro shuts his ears against the rest of the sentiments. They’re ingrained into every person tasked with taking back what’s GalCo’s— _ we’re here, you’re ours, and all it costs is the small fee of compliance.  _ It’s a vicious thing, but their order is what separates them from the madness of the desert outside Daibazaal’s limits, and so viciousness becomes vital when that order is threatened.

He wonders exactly what this woman’s story is. She's defaulted on a new liver. Probable cause: one too many quintessence overdoses.

The skin on the back of his neck prickles, a bone-chilling sensation that has him pulling up the collar of his coat, but there's no one to be seen when he looks back. It's not a guilty conscience—he's become too hardened for that, doesn't mind the violence anymore. Repossession is his job, and he's fucking good at it.

A low cough sounds behind him and he whips around, knife at the ready. "Who's there?"

"You're pretty far out of the way for one of their drones," someone says from above him. "Care to share why you're out here so late?" When they tip their head, their hood falls back to reveal a dark mask, and Shiro's chest constricts.

He  _ recognizes  _ that mask, though he hasn’t seen it in person yet.

The Blades, savages of the wastes.

Shiro steps back into a fighting stance, hardens his gaze as he stares up at the backlit figure. "Care to share why you're inside the city limits?" he asks.

"No."

"Then there's no choice here," Shiro says.  _ "Traitor." _

"Oh,  _ I'm  _ a traitor," the person says. “I’d wager killing your fellow man for not being able to cough up the ransoms Hira demands is traitorous enough.” They stand, swing down the fire escape until they land softly on the ground, crooking a finger. "Come here, pretty boy. Good little soldier."

"I'm no soldier," Shiro growls.

"Right," they say, drawing up to their full height and rolling their shoulders.

"Because a soldier wouldn't be so stupid as to go this long without his quintessence," they purr as the knife shakes in Shiro's hands and they take one step closer.

"Because a good soldier would be better than making the rookie mistake of letting someone behind their back, either, wouldn’t they?" they whisper, and Shiro doesn't have time to turn around before there's a rag pressed against his nose and the world's going black.

**

The cave Shiro wakes in is, for what it is, comfortable. There’s light streaming in through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the provisions stacked in the corner. A blanket, a canteen he desperately hopes is filled with water, and something that looks like food are immediately evident, but no purple vials.

No quintessence.

Shiro rolls his head over to the other shoulder, pain spiking through him as he blinks. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he was captured, but it’s been long enough for the quintessence to have worn mostly off. His tongue’s stuck to the roof of his mouth, every inch of him feeling like a bruise, and he fleetingly hopes whoever’s the silhouette at the door isn’t watching as he crawls on his hands and knees toward the pile.

Not only is it water in the canteen, it’s  _ cold  _ water, and his grateful whimper rings from the ceiling as he drinks down all he can. He slumps back against the wall with a low groan, breath heavy in his chest as his eyes flick around, searching for any possible exit.

There’s only the one.

Fuck, he aches. He hasn’t been off quintessence since just after receiving his new arm—it’s been years of dutifully taking it, because it’s  _ dangerous  _ to go without. Going without means being haunted by your ghosts, and Shiro has entirely too many.

He’s positive any attempt at escape will be futile right now, not when he’s barely able to pick himself up off the ground to rummage through the food. It’s nothing like what he’s used to—there’s only some nuts, dried fruit and meat, but he attacks it like it’s the first food he’s seen in months. He’s ravenous enough not to worry about if there’s anything wrong with the sustenance. No worries about poison, only gratefulness that his captors have taken pity, which…

Doesn’t happen.

He stops chewing, waits for the effects of whatever they  _ have  _ to have given him to start in. When nothing immediately does, he relaxes incrementally before glancing to the hulking shadow on the wall. “What’s your game here?” he asks, coughing as he unearths his voice. His limbs rest heavy on the floor as the brief burst of adrenaline begins to bleed out of him. “You’re killers, aren’t you? Dragging it out for fun?”

The person doesn’t move.

“Hey,” Shiro snaps, immediately regretting it as pain lances through his head. “Honerva’s not going to let me go without a fight. Where am I?”

“Quiet,” they growl.

“Don’t think quiet’s going to get me answers any quicker.” Shiro flexes his hands, letting out a soft sigh of relief that none of the components in his arm seem to be damaged. Taking stock is good. Taking stock means there’s still a body to take stock of and a consciousness to do it with, and that’s two steps in the direction of breaking out and getting back to Daibazaal.

Back to safety.

The same voice sounds from the door again, but whatever it’s whispering isn’t directed at him. No matter how much he strives to listen, the pounding in his head drowns out any words, and he presses his back to the wall. 

“You,” a sharp voice says, and Shiro’s head snaps to the door to see an angular, scarred face staring down at him. “Talk.”

“What about?”

“About why the  _ fuck  _ you and yours keep coming after us when we’re no use to you,” the man hisses. He steps closer, pauses and kneels so he’s eye level with Shiro. “Jealousy? Desperation? Can’t fathom a life not controlled by your masters?”

“Masters?” Shiro huffs. “At least we’re not living out of caves like animals.”

The man has a knife at his neck in an instant, snarling as he tips Shiro’s chin up with the blade. “We’re not  _ animals,”  _ he says. “Maybe in time, you’ll see.” The point scrapes against Shiro’s chin as the man gets up and stalks away, ordering the guard to make sure Shiro has fresh food and water. “He’s going to need it,” he says from the door. “And if he still wants to go back once he starts to remember who he was before it all, we’ll take care of it then.”

**

It’s easy to lose track of time in the cave. Shiro’s days become a blur of eat, sleep, hallucinate about life back inside Daibazaal and all he’s done to remain there. He mutters futilely about how he needs to go back, needs to fulfill the contract he signed in return for his arm, his  _ life,  _ but the guards—Acxa, Narti, and Zethrid, he learns—have no sympathy.

“You’re not that special,” Acxa says.

“We all have a past,” Zethrid says.

Narti says nothing, only looks at him with huge, crystalline eyes as he rambles about how he owes Honerva.

“You owe nothing here,” the man, Keith, says after dropping off food one night, and through the cotton in his head, Shiro can’t quite find it in himself to believe him.

**

“You’ll get over what they’ve pounded into you eventually,” Keith says. “Most do.”

“Yeah, well…” Shiro swallows, turns his head away from Keith’s violet eyes. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“You’ve got it,” Keith says, and that’s the last Shiro sees of him for a while.

**

Shiro does have to admit that for people who are supposed to be so savage, the Blades are surprisingly reasonable. The second he thinks to ask to go for a walk instead of wearing down the cave floor with his pacing, he’s walked down winding tunnels with a cloth over his eyes, and the first touch of a breeze on his face feels like everything he’s ever wanted.

In the city, you have to get up higher than Shiro’s comfortable with to feel the wind. Even in the  _ nice  _ sectors the air is thick with smog and anger, the collective unrest of a city that knows it’s being wronged.

The thought surprises Shiro.

It’s not in his nature to think. Or,  _ hasn’t  _ been, since the accident and being put on quintessence.  _ “For a smoother transition,”  _ the nurse had said. And then,  _ “Don’t be afraid to ask for more if you run out.” _

And because the things he’d been required to do in repayment for Honerva’s kindness wore so heavily on his conscience,  _ running out  _ became his new normal. But this—fresh air on his face, animals calling in the distance, the sound of a hoverbike reverberating off the canyon walls—is worlds away from enhancements and too-perfect people, and this something that  _ could  _ be normal.

Shiro takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to the sight of Keith pulling up, and the ugliest thing about the view is the look on his battered face as he snarls at Shiro and shoves past Narti to disappear back into the caves.

“What was that about?” he asks.

Narti only shrugs.

**

Keith’s patched up and cooled down when he comes to see Shiro later that night. “This,” he says, pointing to where his eye’s swollen shut, “is what your people do to those of us who refuse to be preyed on. What part of you ever thought that was the better option, Shiro?”

And Shiro can’t say a thing, because Keith’s right, and that’s more apparent with each second he spends out from under quintessence’s fog.

**

Keith comes to him the next day, too, and the next, and on the fourth day in a row, they simply sit with their backs against the wall, staring at each other.

“Not going to say anything?” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The silence stretches on, heavy with the weight of words unspoken, but Shiro swallows everything down as he pulls his knees up to his chest, then settles his head to  _ look.  _ Keith’s face is healing, no longer a mass of swelling and bruises, and not for the first time, Shiro’s struck by how beautiful he is.

“You’re off the quintessence now,” Keith says after a while. He rubs a hand on his nape and sighs, as though the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “How does it feel?”

“I have nightmares,” Shiro says before he can stop himself, and Keith winces.

“Yeah, you all do,” he says softly. “Sorry about that.”

“Why?”

Keith’s brow furrows as he looks up, cocks his head. “Why what?”

“If you’re sorry, why don’t you let it—why keep people here?” Shiro asks. He holds out his hand in front of him, the metal gleaming in the slatted sunlight pooling on the floor by his feet. “Why not just let them go back?”

“Do you  _ want _ to go back?” Keith asks.

When Shiro opens his mouth, all that comes to mind is  _ no,  _ and Keith smiles wanly before getting to his feet and extending a hand.

“Come with me,” he says. “I’ll show you all the reasons it’s better out here.”

**

Acquainting himself with this new normal is a chore. In the city it’s every man for themselves, all clamoring for bigger, better,  _ more.  _ In the desert, it’s collaboration. Every man’s a cog in a machine bigger than any of them, and Shiro finds his place amidst the guards who patrol the outskirts of their territory.

Over time, he learns their stories.

Regris was deemed unfit for new lungs, dumped back out on the street with nothing after his initial consultations. He’d made his way to the city’s outskirts and was swarmed by the Blades, ready to die until they took him back and showed him there was more to life than what Hira and the rest of GalCo’s PR team said.

Zethrid was an experiment, a test subject for a growth stimulant that didn’t have all the desired effects.

Narti was pushed into new eyes, and upon realizing she was quiet enough to sneak up on those unable to pay their dues, slated for repossessions. She spends much of her time alone, caught between her old reality and the new, and Shiro can’t blame her.

He understands all too well what a toll that takes on a person.

It spills out of him one night over a shared bottle of wine, he and Keith squirreled away in Keith’s room as they trade stories back and forth.

“I used to think stars were holes poked in fabric,” Keith says.

“I lost my arm in a hoverbike accident,” Shiro says.

“I was thrown out before I could snag a dick,” Keith says, face flushed as he leans against Shiro’s shoulder and snickers. “Shouldn’t have questioned as much as I did.”

“I can’t sleep without thinking about what these have done,” Shiro says, holding out trembling hands, and Keith isn’t laughing anymore. Shiro looks over to see his smile soured, his gaze downcast as he presses his forehead into Shiro’s arm. “Keith?”

“How did it get to be this way?” Keith asks. “So...brutal? Divided?”

“Greed,” Shiro says.

“Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“I’m feeling kind of greedy myself tonight,” Keith says. He looks up with wide eyes, blinking slowly in the low light as he shuffles closer. “Kiss me.”

Shiro slides a hand up Keith’s arm to rest against his neck, tips his forehead to the other man’s as Keith noses into his cheek. It’s as easy as breathing, kissing Keith, and Shiro doesn’t want to stop. He reclines onto Keith’s bed, Keith on top of him, and they spend too much of the night caught up in learning each other’s secrets and stories.

Keith, the man who abandoned a future after seeing what it would cost.

Shiro, the man forced into that future against his will, all because they’d kept him too drugged to say no.

Together, so much more than the sum of their parts.

**

They’re stopped just outside of town before meeting someone to smuggle out supplies when Acxa looks pointedly at Keith’s pinky brushing against Shiro’s. “Consider yourself lucky,” she says. “He doesn’t let just anyone touch him.”

When Keith darts over to shove at her shoulder and tells her to shut up, he looks back at Shiro with mirth in his eyes, and Shiro feels special. He feels  _ wanted  _ in a way he knows now he never would have in the city, and the feeling’s equally thrilling and terrifying as it carries him through their exchange with their contact, Pidge.

**

It’s not always rainbows, of course. There’s more than a few clashes with task forces sent to take back what’s GalCo’s—not just Shiro, it's  _ all _ who've managed to escape—and Shiro can’t find it in himself to feel too guilty about the way those poor souls fall under his hand. There’s losses incurred on both sides as tension escalates, bodies piled over parts and pitiful excuses as to why the Blades can’t just  _ be. _

By the time spring rolls around, Keith’s had enough.

“We need this to end.” He’s quiet, tucked close against Shiro’s side. His lips skim over the curve of Shiro’s shoulder, hand warm where it rests over Shiro’s quickly-beating heart. “There’s no winning. Not like this,” he says, and Shiro pulls him closer with a soft hum of assent.

“What are we going to do?”

“Fight. Win.” Keith takes a deep breath and slides over Shiro’s hips, eyes seeking as they flicker over Shiro’s face. “Prove once and for all that no upgrade is worth selling yourself for. Release people from their contracts.” He leans down and takes Shiro’s face in his hands, presses their lips together in a gentle kiss. “It’s going to take work.”

Shiro rests his hands on Keith’s waist and rubs his thumbs in circles over the jut of Keith’s hips. “A lot of work,” he agrees. “Are you sure we’re ready?”

Keith swallows and nods once. “We have to be. All right?”

“I trust you,” Shiro says, and that’s good enough for Keith.

**

The night before they attack, Shiro can’t sleep. He’s not alone in the feeling—Acxa, Narti, and Keith are all outside by a small fire when he makes his way to the hideaway entrance, and they welcome him with open arms as he sits, then lays down with his head in Keith’s lap. Slender fingers card through his hair, lulling him as well as the crackle of flames and light of the stars.

“Just think,” Acxa sighs. “Soon everyone in the city’ll be able to see the stars again.”

“Yeah,” Keith says.

Shiro runs a knuckle over the line of Keith’s shin below him. There isn’t much to say that hasn’t already been said—it’s been four months of meticulous planning, reaching out to other Blade bases in the area, gathering forces, and  _ finally,  _ there’s a moment of rest. They’ll ride through the gates tomorrow, and none know to what end, but tomorrow is another day, and right now all they have to focus on is the way sparks find their places amidst the stars.

Even Narti speaks, a low, rasping  _ I love you  _ in Acxa’s ear that Shiro pretends not to hear. Keith’s hand curls in his as the embers grow dim, his arm over Shiro’s shoulders a solid, grounding weight that Shiro hopes to have for a whole lot longer. Shiro brings their knuckles to his lips and kisses across every dip and curve, and by the time Acxa and Narti retire, Keith’s heartbeat thrums rapidly in his wrists.

“Come back to bed,” Shiro murmurs. “I want you.”

Keith unwinds himself from his perch and puts out the fire, taking Shiro’s hands and grinning as he tugs him back toward the entrance. “Fuck me,” he whispers against Shiro’s lips when their bodies crash together. “Been a while.”

“Been busy.” Shiro keeps his touches light and teasing as they make their way back to the room they’ve shared for months now, never quite giving in to Keith’s demands. “Wait,” he says when they get inside. He presses a finger to Keith’s lips in the dark. “Let me make it memorable, love,” he says softly, replacing the finger with his mouth. “What do you need tonight?”

“You,” Keith says, and it’s sweet, but it’s not what Shiro’s looking for.

“Use your words,” he says. His fingers tease at the waist of Keith’s shorts, dipping below the fabric to tease as Keith whines. “How do you want me?”

“Mouth. Your mouth,” Keith says. He pulls Shiro’s shirt off, then goes for his pants before Shiro presses the length of their bodies together and grinds slowly against him. “Fuck, Shiro, I want you to make me come and then I want you in me.”

“Good,” Shiro purrs. He tosses Keith’s shirt next to his on the floor, helps him shimmy out of his pants and underwear until he’s leaning naked against the wall. “On the bed, Keith. Spread your legs for me.” Settling between long, white thighs, he looks up the length of Keith’s body as he presses a kiss just above Keith’s clit. “I love you,” he says. It’s quiet, nearly swallowed up by Keith’s breathing, but Keith smiles when it sinks in.

“I love you too,” he says. His knuckles brush over the apple of Shiro’s cheek before his fingers wind back into Shiro’s hair, pushing his head down. “Now show me.”

Shiro makes a show of it, holds Keith open with unyielding hands as he licks messily over him. It’s easy to rile the other man—a flick of Shiro’s tongue, two fingers stroking his inner walls, and Keith begins to come undone. He’s as demanding here as he is when he’s directing their forces, always ordering and correcting and biting out harsh phrases when he doesn’t get his way, but Shiro  _ adores  _ the way his  _ harder  _ becomes  _ fuck, Shiro  _ before tapering off into the sweetest moans.

When he comes, his thighs clamp hard around Shiro’s head to hold him fast. Shiro sucks him through it until he slurs, “Come up here. I need you. I love you.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, soft and breathy as he sheathes himself. “Fuck,  _ Keith,”  _ because that’s the only thought that beats through his mind as the pleasure in him spirals higher. His release hits him like a truck, Keith’s following soon after before they both sink to the bed, sated.

Keith speaks first. “Shiro, if we don’t—if I don’t—”

“Shh,” Shiro says. He presses his lips to Keith’s temple and tries for a smile, even in the dark. “We’ll figure it out in the morning, baby. For now, let’s just rest.”

**

The next day dawns too soon.

The fury of the Blades is unleashed upon the city.

The battle rages.

Daibazaal’s defenses fall, and Shiro has a hard time believing it when Antok, from a nearby settlement, brings him the news. “Where’s Keith?” he asks, voice raw from barking orders.  _ “Where?” _

“Up by the gate.” Antok cocks his head and Shiro’s already running before Antok can get out anything more. Old, familiar streets fly by until he’s bursting out of the residential area and into the main square, a sprawling plaza in front of GalCo headquarters. When he lays eyes on Keith, whole and largely unharmed, he stops in his tracks.

The strength bleeds out of him.

Keith runs over to catch him as he slumps forward, breath coming in hitching noises he’s not sure is laughter or relieved sobbing. “You’re here,” Keith says, kissing everywhere he can. “God, Shiro, you’re alive, thank god, I—” He finally stills, resting his forehead against Shiro’s with a smile tugging on his lips. “We did it,” he chuckles. “We actually fucking did it.”

Shiro tightens his hold and nods, then lets Keith step back.

“You ready to get started on all the new work we’ve brought down on ourselves?” Keith asks, and Shiro nods.

“Let’s show them what it is to be human again.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know this fic is kind of short and skims over a lot, but word limits 😅 The thing is, I've got almost 9k of an _outline_ for a longer, much more in-depth Repo!AU sitting in my Drive right now (though it's more akin to actual Repo canon, with a happy-ish ending). 
> 
> Is that something anyone's interested in? Please let me know in the comments or on twitter/tumblr!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments make my world go round, and I always do my best to get back to them ❤️
> 
> You can also find me lurking and yelling about fictional characters on:  
> [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/aryagraceling)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/cM8FaND)  
> [Tumblr](https://aryagraceling.tumblr.com)  
> [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951)


End file.
